


Friends

by Crowlex



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Light Fluff (if you can call it that), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowlex/pseuds/Crowlex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time they'd seen each other, Jim had been protecting Theo against Oswald's vengeful wrath. It's up to Jim to repair their fragile relationship before it falls apart into nothing but more importantly, can Jim save Oswald from himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrowleySinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleySinger/gifts).



> For you {dude, I hope you don't mind if I just gift you all this shit of these two idiots}. And for another friend of mine who said I couldn't write fluff for these two to save my life {you're right, I can't but I tried}.

Jim burst through the doors, finding Oswald deep in conversation with Gabe.

 “ – just throw him out – " Oswald’s eyes widened, stopping in mid-sentence when they met Jim’s before they froze over just as quickly in ruthless resentment. He waved his hand dismissively and Gabe moved to obey the silent command.

Jim didn’t stop, making his way over to where Oswald was seated at the head of the grand dining table. He was focused on the drink in his hand, the previous enthusiasm he usually expressed in Jim’s presence was absent. Jim was met halfway by Gabe who blocked off his approach.

“Call him off, Oswald.”

The King of Gotham took a sip from the glass goblet, ignoring the detective’s request. 

Jim put a hand out in warning that stopped Gabe from taking another step toward him. “I’m here to talk.”

Water spilled from the rim of the goblet as it was slammed down on the table. “Talk about what, detective?” Green eyes flickered over to him, the light from the fire place reflecting the inner hatred he felt radiating from Oswald. “Do you have another favor to ask of me?” Each word was spat out in distaste, the whole situation very deja vu. “Walk away, Jim,” Oswald said when he didn’t answer.

This wasn’t just some passing anger that would eventually evaporate with time. Oswald was genuinely hurt by what he had done and had every right to be.

As Jim tried to come up with something to say, it was only then that he noticed a bottle of painkillers and a roll of gauze on the table. Oswald followed his gaze but only glowered up at him.

“Gabe! Show him out.”

Before the brawny man could react, Jim had nimbly rolled under the table to the other side, marched over to Oswald and yanked him up and out of the chair by the collar. Oswald winced in discomfort at the rough treatment as Jim looked the other man over without trying to make it too obvious that he was trying to assess how bad the gunshot wound was, ignoring Gabe’s massive hand that landed menacingly on his shoulder. He could recall the sudden panic that seized him when he had seen Oswald fall to the ground; for an instant, he’d forgotten everything about defensive measures, trying to convince himself that Oswald wasn’t dead.

Oswald’s dress jacket was draped over his shoulders like a cape, shirt unbuttoned halfway to reveal pale skin underneath with a hand defensively holding his left shoulder.

Jim didn’t let go.

“Just five minutes,” he implored in a softer, apologetic tone. The icy malice in Oswald’s eyes didn’t waver.

“Two,” Oswald snapped. “Out Gabe.”

Footsteps faded after the door shut, leaving them in silence except for the occasional snap and crackle of the blaze that ate away at wood in the fireplace.

Oswald shoved Jim’s hands away, grimacing at the movement. He moved to the other side of the ornately designed chair to put distance in between them, staring into the red flames that lit up his features with a soft orange glow. Despite the comfortable warmth of the room, there was a frigid ambience that cut through the atmosphere like cold steel.

Jim ran a head through his hair, unsure of what to say now that he had the chance.  “I’m sorry about what happened to your mother,” he finally managed.

Oswald’s hand fisted at his side. “No, you’re not.”

“I couldn’t let you kill Theo out of revenge. You can’t just walk around killing people –”

Oswald spun around, his jacket flaring out at the sudden movement; his eyes a coniferous forest set ablaze with rage. “Theo killed my mother, Jim! You don’t seem to have a problem with _that_.” The last word held so much venom and bitter rage that Jim’s stomach coiled at the hostile bite in Oswald’s voice.

Jim took a tentative step forward as if he was approaching a wounded but dangerous animal. “I had to protect him.”

“Why?!” came the tormented shout.

 _To protect you from yourself_. Jim dared to take another step. “You know why. Killing him would have only escalated things.” The duty would have fallen on the GCPD to hunt down the man who had killed the newly elected and well-loved mayor in cold blood. Penguin would have been hunted until he was locked up or put down, eye for an eye. The facts wouldn’t matter at that point.

“It was all a lie and what makes it worse –” There was a raw edge of hatred in Oswald's eyes that captured Jim’s morbid fascination. “ – is that you knew. You _knew_ but you protected him anyways.”

“I did,” Jim admitted. Another wary step left him only a few feet from Oswald. “But we needed evidence. Killing him wouldn’t have done anything for you or anyone else.”

“You don’t know that.” The hostile bite faltered in Oswald’s voice as if he was considering Jim’s words, even in all the pain he was in. That small fact gave Jim enough reassurance to close the remaining gap between them.

“Yes I do. I know what it’s like to have your family taken away from you…" The words were out of Jim's mouth before he could stop them. "It’s the loneliest feeling in the world.”

The fury melted away from Oswald’s face. He stared at Jim, one hand still gripping his shoulder but with an air of curiosity about him that was undeniable.

“My father was a defense attorney,” Jim confessed, briefly wondering why he was sharing something so private about himself that even Lee or Harvey didn’t know about. “Both of my parents paid the price for all the work he did.”

“I’m sorry,” Oswald mumbled, eyes flooding with misery and shared apprehension.

“Don’t be,” Jim said, uncomfortable that this was all getting too maudlin so he did the only thing he could. He nodded at the hand that covered the gunshot wound. “How’s the shoulder?”

The question seemed to have caught Oswald off guard who quickly pulled at the draped dress jacket in an attempt to cover it from Jim’s prying eyes, his other hand clutching the wound almost too tightly. “It’s none of your concern –”

Jim’s hand shot out to grab the thin wrist to prevent Oswald from clenching his shoulder so harshly. “Let me take a look.”

It was as if the physical contact had rekindled Oswald’s anger tenfold. He wrenched his hand free and grabbed the lapels of Jim’s jacket.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” The shorter man snarled into his face, shaking him roughly – or at least, as best as he could with his injury. Jim could only stare into Oswald’s face, absolutely stunned. Up until now, Oswald had never gotten physical with him, even in anger. Threatened him? Yes. But this… this was something new and the sheer intensity of pain and betrayal that consumed Oswald’s eyes in that moment took his breath away, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“You have no right. I’ve been far too generous with you, Jim, but that comes to an end from here on out.” Oswald squeezed his eyes shut as he took in sharp ragged breaths but despite all his efforts, a pained moan bled through his clenched teeth.

“Oswald –”

“Penguin!” Oswald corrected as he released Jim, opting to back into the wall behind him to keep himself standing. His shoulder screamed in protest from all the strenuous movement earlier but he maintained his stone cold façade.

“Let me help you.” Jim didn’t like this. He didn’t like how Oswald had twisted away from his touch, lip curled in disgust. He didn’t like the way Oswald had put distance in between them by insisting the use of his nickname instead. What he hated most of all was that all of this bothered him in the first place.

“Help?” Oswald giggled as if he’d heard the most hilarious joke in his life, eyeing Jim with a mania that highlighted his jade green irises in an iridescent glow. “You offer to help me now? After my mother’s _dead_?” Oswald chuckled darkly. “It’s much too late for that. We can go our separate ways like you wanted. No more deals, no more favors.”

Oswald pushed passed the detective and made his way back to the table, ignoring the footsteps that followed behind him. “Goodbye Jim,” he said as he reached for the bottle of painkillers.

Jim wasn’t going to end things like this, not now, not when he needed Oswald’s help more than ever. The prospect of having no allies was depressing but more than that, he realized that he’d taken his relationship with Oswald for granted now that it had come to this. Who would he turn to for help now? What higher price would he have to pay for favors that might not even be kept by someone who wasn’t Oswald? He wasn’t going to give up what they had so easily. He reached around and snatched the bottle away, lifting it high when Oswald tried to steal it back with a seething glare.

“Don’t make me call for Gabe, Jim,” Oswald threatened, frustration scrunching his forehead into wrinkles.

“Detective,” Jim shot back, earning himself another glare as Oswald invaded his personal space trying to retrieve the bottle back from him. No matter how hard Oswald tried to steal it back, his injured shoulder restrained him from making any dynamic movements on top of the fact that Jim had a slight height advantage as well.

“Ga –”

Jim took the chance to quickly clamp a hand over Oswald’s mouth, setting the bottle back on the table. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to sit down on the table and let me take a look at that shoulder, whether you like it or not. And you’re going to listen to what I have to say.”

Oswald’s eyes narrowed defiantly as his hands came up to Jim’s in an attempt to free himself. Now that Jim’s other hand was free of the bottle, it wrapped around the crook of Oswald’s neck, making escape impossible.

“Being in the military taught me a few things about gunshot wounds, aftercare being one of them. It won’t hurt as much if you let me do it.”

Oswald rolled his eyes disapprovingly.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. _Don’t_ call for Gabe.” Jim waited until Oswald gave him a begrudging nod. “I mean it,” Jim added before he slowly pulled his hands away.

Oswald huffed, clearly tempted to defy Jim’s orders but after a moment, he relented and pulled himself backwards onto the top of the table, arms folded across his chest. Satisfied, Jim slipped out of his jacket, folding it neatly and placed it beside a very unamused Oswald.

“Theo may be in prison on one charge but I’m not going to let him get away with everything else, including what he did to your mother,” Jim began as he unbuttoned both of his sleeves to his dress shirt.

“A man like him won’t stay behind bars for long,” Oswald said bluntly, watching Jim folding his sleeves up to his elbows.

“That’s why I need your help,” Jim replied, opening the bottle and shaking out a tablet. “You know him better than I do.”

“I thought I made it clear that we’re not –”

“You did,” Jim agreed as he stretched to reach the glass goblet filled with water and presented it along with the tablet to Oswald who grumpily unfolded his arms to grab them from him. Jim stared straight into Oswald’s eyes. “But you and I both know that we don’t stand a chance on our own.”

Oswald didn’t say anything. He threw the pill into his mouth, bringing the goblet up to his lips soon after. He downed the entire glass and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He set the glass aside but peered up at Jim with a frown. “What is it?”

Jim wasn’t sure what had gotten into him but he’d been staring the entire time. “Nothing.” He saved himself by reaching for the roll of gauze instead.

“It’s better to kill Theo so he stays dead. There would be much less collateral damage in the future. Think of all the lives that would be saved,” Oswald uttered, almost in a pouting manner.

Jim stepped in between Oswald’s legs that hung off the edge of the table. “No killing,” he said as he held the roll of gauze between them. All he got was a petrified stare as unsteady hands took the gauze from him.

“It won’t bring anyone back.” He began to unbutton the rest of Oswald’s shirt. “Don’t throw your life away so recklessly for it. Revenge isn’t worth anyone’s life.” _Yours included_.

Surprisingly, Oswald was solemnly mute.

“Take it off.”

Oswald stared at him with wide owl eyes.

“Your shirt,” Jim said calmly, internally slapping himself at how that had come out. It had sounded much better in his head for some reason. “Take off your shirt.”

Without waiting for permission, Jim took off the layered jacket that prompted Oswald to slowly pull his arms through his shirt, starting with his right arm which made it easier to take it off his left without too much strain to his shoulder.

It hadn’t escaped Jim’s notice that Oswald wore his suit to hide how thin his figure was. Jim didn’t blame him, especially when strength and brawn strongly correlated with appearance in the criminal underworld. Without the layers though, it was painfully obvious how thin Oswald really was and the porcelain pale skin only seemed to have any sort of color tone in them because of the red and orange of the fire from the fireplace across from them. Jim blamed his hyperactive senses, sharpened in his time in the military as to why he was noticing these things.

He turned his attention to the wound and at first glance, he could tell that whoever had treated Oswald had been a pro. The exit wound was stitched up with so much precision and expertise that it didn’t look like a through and through at all. The entry wound on the back of Oswald’s shoulder was hardly discernable at all.

“Why do you care so much about whether I kill Theo Galavan or not, Jim?” Oswald’s voice lacked any of its previous venom; it was a genuinely asked question and he sounded tired more than anything.

Jim snatched the gauze up from Oswald’s open hand and began to unroll it. “It’s my job.”

“Do your other friends fall for your lies so easily?” The corner of Oswald’s mouth was curved upward, a ghost of a smirk playing his lips.

This was good. At least Oswald wasn’t trying to bite his head off anymore.

Jim didn’t answer, instead lifting his hand to settle underneath Oswald’s chin. There was a sharp inhale as he gently turned Oswald’s head off to the side. “Don’t move,” he ordered as he began to wrap Oswald’s left arm as a starting point.

“You didn’t answer –”

“Revenge sounds good for a time, Oswald. Once you taste it, it's not as good as you imagined it to be. By the time you realize that, it's too late.” Jim focused on the task at hand, even if he’d done it so many times he could have done it with his eyes closed. "Don't lose yourself and turn into something you're not." 

The answer was far beyond what Oswald had been expecting but it lifted a weight off his chest, even if he was still in mourning over his mother. His mother had always loved him for who he was, no matter what. Was this Jim's way of accepting him for who and what he was, even if the detective's instilled morals told him otherwise? Oswald wanted to think so and it was comforting to know that.

Jim had to stretch around to wrap the chest which brought his face unnervingly close to Oswald’s who still had it turned away like Jim had told him to. Oswald Cobblepot looked more human than anyone Jim had ever met. A king seated on a rusty throne, subdued and overthrown by a monster far more cruel and cold hearted than he had ever been. Oswald’s gaze was one of defeat, the heart of his castle left in ruins with the death of his mother. Jim knew that look; he’d worn it himself once.

“Theo Galavan will pay for your mother’s death. I can promise you that,” Jim said brazenly. Oswald seemed to detect the tenacity in his voice that the other man forgot about his order - head turning too quickly at the same time that Jim was leaning in to wrap Oswald’s chest again - that Oswald’s nose bumped into Jim’s.

Jim flinched at the sudden jolt of contact that sent unnervingly pleasant tingles all over his nose and spread across his face like spider webs. He knew he was holding in his breath but he couldn’t understand why. His heart thundered in his ears, so loudly that it irritated him more than anything. The room felt like it had been amped up twenty degrees higher. He wasn’t too sure if it was the fire but he could swear that Oswald looked as flushed as he felt.

“Uh – I’m – I’m sorry, I forgot –” Oswald turned away as his eyes fell, searching for anything in the room that wasn’t Jim’s cerulean blues.

Jim let out a shaky breath. What the hell was all that about?

“No, you’re fine.” He was relieved to find that his voice didn’t give away the utter mess of perplexity that he felt inside.

He was almost done wrapping Oswald’s shoulder in silence when the other man finally broke the awkward hush that had fallen over them.

“Before my mother died, I begged for her forgiveness.” Oswald’s knuckles whitened as his hands gripped the edge of the table tightly. “She told me that I didn’t need to be forgiven.” He let out an unsteady breath. “I was always good in her eyes,” he said, voice brimming with regret and guilt. “But she _knew_. She knew I wasn’t, I know it.”

Jim finished bandaging the other man as Oswald finished and how those words were said nagged at him until something inside Jim reared its head, roaring - something protective. It made him angry to see how crippled this man had become, a far cry from the Oswald he was used to and it agitated him. It was as if he was looking at a reflection of his past self, after his parents had died. The difference was that he had stuck it through alone. Oswald didn’t have to. His left hand seized the mobster’s good shoulder, the other lifting Oswald’s chin to force him to make eye contact. Oswald’s eyes shied away from his.

“Look at me.” Jim pulled the other man’s chin a little further up, insistent yet with just enough tenderness in his fingers. “ _Look_ at me, Oswald.” There was just enough growl to the way he said the words that it was gentle but demanding at the same time. It did the trick; jaded eyes hesitantly met his.

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened. It wasn’t your fault and your mother knew that better than anyone.” Jim couldn’t believe a day would come when a cop would be giving the most notorious criminal in Gotham a pep talk, especially _him_ out of all people. He figured that there was a first time for everything. “Pull yourself together. There’s only one person responsible for her death and that’s why I’m asking you to help me. You don’t have to do this alone.”

It was a gesture of care that Oswald had never expected to be on the receiving end of. Although people would say otherwise, he knew that this was Jim’s way of admitting that he cared. _Jim cared_. Oswald’s heart was doing somersaults in the air while his brain had dropped onto the floor. To top it all off, Jim’s eyes were fiercely gentle, resilient but understanding. Still… Jim was asking a lot of him, someone who had nothing to lose – no, that wasn’t right. He could lose Jim’s friendship depending on what he said next when the detective was, for once, the one holding out a hand first. All he had to do was grab it but was it revenge or friendship he wanted most?

“You’re asking me to set my feelings aside,” Oswald observed quietly.

“I’m asking you to trust me,” Jim replied, unusually quiet himself, lacking his usual passive-aggressive lilt.

Jim knew it was a lot to ask, especially when his actions in the past clearly stated what he thought of this relationship between them but as he had come to understand more of the inner workings of the underworld of Gotham and the people who were involved, Oswald was fair and reasonable in comparison to the rest. However, Oswald was also highly intelligent and clever which made him deadlier than all the worst combined; a double edged sword that Jim had always been wary of wielding. Then there was Theo Galavan, a predator in disguise who had completely crushed Cobblepot in one go, all because Oswald was still human underneath all that twisted and barbed armor he wore when he was the Penguin. There was good in Oswald somewhere and Jim had only failed to recognize before. It was the stark similarity between them of losing people they cared about that Jim had come to realize that he was the thin string of good that kept Oswald from falling into the abyss that would make him no different than Theo. No, Jim firmly believed that he could save Oswald from becoming that. A man with nothing to lose could easily become what Theo was but Oswald was not or would ever come close. _Not on his watch_.

“I trust you.” Oswald tilted his head slightly, piercing eyes searching Jim’s. “Make no mistake, Jim. I’m not agreeing to your terms out of desperation.”

“I know.” Jim knew more than anyone that this was a huge gesture of trust, for the both of them.

Oswald let out a sigh. “What was this plan you had in mind?”

It was then that something impossible happened. Jim Gordon _smiled_. A corner of his mouth quirked, tightening just for a split second –

And disappeared all too quickly.

It had been genuine though, that much Oswald knew. An unexplainable warmth filled his chest and he found himself unable to form coherent thoughts in that brief instant, basking in the small indication of tenderness that was pleasantly unbecoming of the detective.

“Thank you.” Jim finally got some of the words out as he held out his hand between them. Oswald was willing to set his vengeful agenda aside because Jim had asked him to. Jim was fully aware that he hadn’t been the most accommodating friend but that was just it, wasn’t it? Forgive and forget, that’s what friends did and what Oswald did next proved it, undeniably.

Oswald grasped Jim’s offered hand with renewed vigor, taking it a step further by placing another hand on top of the detective’s in an affectionate gesture. Oswald’s green eyes glimmered with a contagious kind of glee that took hold of Jim’s focus and attention and he found himself admiring how they seemed to shine with a wicked charm. This was the Oswald he wanted to see.

“Anything for a good friend of mine,” Oswald said. He didn’t need to say anymore.

If this wasn’t true friendship, Jim didn’t know what was.


End file.
